The Mentalist: That Certain Smile
by Donnamour1969
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! What if Lisbon had been the one sent to South America to retrieve Jane? Alternative to "My Blue Heaven," so some spoilers. Romance/Drama/Humor. Rated T/M for adult language and situations.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, I'm still working on "Private Eyes," but this idea occurred to me, and wouldn't let me rest until I got it out of my head. It will only be two or three chapters, but it is designed to help me (and, hopefully, you) pass the time until the hiatus is up. I'm sure someone else has had this idea, but I haven't actually read any of those stories, so any similarities are purely coincidental. I hope you enjoy this.

**That Certain Smile**

**Chapter 1**

"We know you've been receiving letters from Jane," said Dennis Abbot, sitting in the chair in front of her desk. The endless rain continued to fall outside the Cannon River Police Department, and Chief Lisbon regarded the federal agent benignly.

"And?"

"And, you realize that by withholding this information from us, you're aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive."

She shrugged nonchalantly, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "None of the letters are signed by Jane, so I can't be sure they're from him, now can I? And I have done nothing to _aid _anyone. Receiving letters is no crime."

Abbot gave a tight smile. "I can see Jane's methods rubbed off on you over the ten years you worked with him. Seems Jane's been funneling his letters through some of his old carney friends. When we got a warrant to monitor their post office box, we figured out that they would take Jane's mail and slip it into a new envelope, then send it up here to you. Quite clever, really, but I was told to expect no less from Jane."

When confronted with the truth, Lisbon chose to remain stubbornly silent.

"Look, I could very easily ruin your budding career here, Chief Lisbon, and just when the dust has finally settled since the Red John debacle. But if you help me in this matter, I'll forget that entire box of letters we recovered from your house this morning."

Her feigned bravado disappeared immediately. "You searched my house?" she said angrily.

He reached for the cowry seashell on her desk. "I believe this is the shell Jane mentions in his letter from Christmas of 2013, am I right? I wonder if we'd find a useable fingerprint…"

"What the hell do you want?" she asked finally, her hands clenching in her lap. It took every ounce of her self-control not to reach over the desk and tear her beloved gift from the fed's unworthy hands.

"We've located Jane on a small island off the coast of South America. We want you to go down there and _encourage_ him to come back."

She laughed. "No way. Even if I agreed, he won't come. Why don't you just go down there and arrest him yourself?"

"I'm sure you know as well as I do that we have few extradition agreements with that part of the world. But we do have the power to make him a deal. If he comes back and works as a consultant for the FBI, we'll drop the murder charges, along with the other extraneous charges pending against him."

Her heart leapt at this unexpected opportunity. "All the charges dropped? No trial, no time at all?"

"That's right," agreed Abbot. "But he's not gonna take my word for it. Go down there, Lisbon, convince him to come home. I'm sure he's missing the comforts of his own country by now, and from his letters, he's obviously missing you too."

Her eyes flashed again at his invasion of her privacy. "Why do I feel, Agent Abbot, as if he would be making a deal with the devil? Are you wanting his soul too?"

"Nothing as innocuous as that," he said in amusement. "Just his help putting away more bad guys."

"He'll want this deal in writing before he'd even consider it."

"I'll work something up for you to show to him."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed. "Something legal and binding, Agent Abbot, that I can see for myself before I present it to him. I'll not be party to bringing him back just so you can throw him in a Federal Pen."

"You're an officer of the law, Chief Lisbon. This man is wanted for the murder of at least two men."

"Two very bad men," she said softly. "Not to mention the fact that it was mainly through Jane's efforts that you discovered the giant syndicate in law enforcement that led to the arrests of scores of corrupt officials. Quite a feather in your cap, I imagine. I think that alone entitles him to a deal."

Abbot smiled again, this time more genuinely. "Perhaps you're right. Well, the powers that be seem to think his talents are being wasted in the back of beyond, so they're pretty much giving him carte blanche here. I could have sent someone else to entice him, but something tells me you would be our best bet."

"What happens if not even I can _entice _him? Will I be locked up for aiding and abetting?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Chief," he hedged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Besides, I have every faith in your abilities; otherwise I wouldn't have even bothered coming here."

She didn't believe that for a second. He was there to bully her into getting what the FBI wanted, even if it meant destroying her life—again—in the process.

"Fine," she said after a moment. "I'll go, but I can't make any guarantees where Jane is concerned."

"You're making the right decision, both for yourself and for Jane. This is the best, and _only_ offer he's going to get. Now, shall I escort you home so you can pack and get your passport?"

"That won't be necessary," she said tightly.

"Oh, I insist. Our plane leaves in three hours."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane made his weekly trip to the post office, bantering in Spanish with the ladies who ran the place.

"Anyone ask for me?" he said, as per usual.

"No, Senor," the clerk responded, somewhat sadly it seemed to Jane. They must have thought he _wanted_ someone to come looking for him; but it was actually quite the contrary. No interlopers meant another day of freedom.

Jane grinned his thanks and went on his way, waving to the local children and stopping to scratch behind the ears of the yellow cat that hung hopefully around the small seafood market. Jane called him Charlie, and the animal preened and purred under his attentions.

Then it was off to Alfredo's seaside bar and grill for his usual breakfast. It was a simple, predictable life, and one, though at times left him bored and restless, he also found soothing and healing. Someday soon he would move on, find something to do with the rest of his life besides being a beach bum. The money he'd stashed away in off shore accounts back in his fake psychic days wouldn't last forever, though he only took what he needed to pay the meager rent of his small hovel and the other basic necessities of life, like eggs and tea.

The only things that interested him lately were his letters to Lisbon, and the hope that she was somehow receiving them. He'd imagine her expressions as she read his cheerful missives, and that kept him going through the long days of beautiful tedium. Seldom did he tell her his real feelings about things, but occasionally he would voice his regrets, like in the letter he'd just sent. He would give anything to make it up to Lisbon for leaving her to clean up his mess-again. Newspapers from the States and his occasional glimpses of satellite news told him that Red John's legions had been decimated, and for that he was glad, but he knew it had been at the expense of his old team's jobs, and he was genuinely sorry for that.

He was not, however, sorry for having killed Red John with his bare hands. He would never regret that, for it had freed him, except for the ring he still wore on his left hand. There would be a someday for that too, he knew, though the thought of taking off his ring made him feel oddly fearful and vulnerable. He'd worn that ring like an amulet or an athlete's lucky hat. It had protected him, shielded him, but, as he saw in hindsight, it had also isolated him. He'd been (except for one night in Vegas) celibate for twelve years now, but he was still a man, still had needs and desires, which, the more time passed since his quest for Red John had ended, became increasingly difficult to ignore.

What was he saving himself for? He was past punishing himself, was even on his way to forgiving himself. He was relatively happy now, carefree, and he longed for someone to share that with. It was a perfectly normal desire, he knew, but he had recently come to realize that when Red John was gone, he'd expected to have Lisbon in his life. That was obviously impossible now, but he still wrote those letters, faithfully, every week.

It was probably in his own best interest, as well as hers, to let her go. But Jane had an obsessive nature, and once he'd committed himself to something, to _someone_, it was nearly impossible to give them up. He missed Lisbon with an ache that seemed at times almost unbearable. He'd freed himself from Red John, but he was still attached to Lisbon, by a long, invisible thread that stretched all the way to Washington State. He wondered if she felt it too, and that uncertainty was what kept him writing, kept that thread intact.

He finished his eggs and took a walk along the beach, removing his shoes as he combed the edge of the waves, looking for something to decorate his room, or maybe to send to Lisbon for her upcoming birthday. He'd loved to spoil her when she'd let him, though she'd often returned his gifts. That was okay with him, for the reward had always been her initial reaction. Her dimpled smiles were priceless, like a gift for him as well. Her last birthday, he'd only had his memories of birthdays past to hold onto. What he wouldn't give to see that smile just one more time.

The warm water washed against his bare feet, and he had just considered a morning swim, when something caught his attention, or, rather, _someone. _Some distance down the beach, he saw a woman wearing a long skirt that billowed out in the breeze, her long, dark hair blowing across her face, her sandals dangling from her fingers just as he carried his old brown shoes. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, perhaps it was his incredibly wishful thinking, but something in the way she moved seemed painfully familiar. He'd had this experience occasionally over the past two years, (as one often does in foreign places) when he thought he'd seen someone he knew. He'd even, at times, thought he'd seen Lisbon, only to feel as if the rug were pulled from beneath him when he realized he'd been wrong.

He paused a moment, holding his breath, as the woman continued her slow trek in his direction. The illusion did not go away, and indeed only seemed more real the closer to him she came. She was looking out to sea, ignoring her feet, and when an unexpected wave splashed up to her knees, she jumped with a little laugh at being taken off guard, the skirt of her dress soaking wet.

He knew that laugh.

Jane felt his heart leap into his throat as he stood there, momentarily paralyzed, the waves buffeting against his own legs as he watched the woman trot higher up on shore and bend to ring out her skirt. When she stood up straight again, she saw him, and her face broke into that certain dimpled smile he'd just minutes before believed he'd never see again.

"Lisbon," he whispered, and he dropped his shoes in the sand.

**A/N: While I loved the reunion between them on the show, wouldn't this have been even better? Another chapter soon. **

**By the way, the title from this fic comes from an old Johnny Mathis song, in case you're wondering.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow! You guys must have liked this idea! Thank you for the wonderful response. I was so excited myself, that I got right to work on chapter 2. I think you'll like where this goes, Jisbon fans :). And yes, it's shamelessly romantic. I'm not apologizing.

**Chapter 2**

Lisbon had had the long hours on the plane to get ready for this moment, but still, she couldn't have prepared for the overwhelming rush of feeling when she was once more in the presence of Patrick Jane. She stood on the beach, her wet dress clinging to her legs, her heart beating wildly as he approached her, just as he had countless times before in her dreams. Her eyes grew misty and she couldn't stop smiling at the sight of him.

She had rehearsed what she was going to say when she saw him, but her mind went totally blank, and all she could do was feel—a mixture of gratitude, happiness, and yes, deep, abiding love. His steps on the warm sand quickened, and she expected him to stop a few feet before her, but he walked right into her arms, gathering her tightly against his lean frame, his hands hot on her back. He smelled of sunshine and the sea and the hauntingly familiar scent that was his alone. She felt his face in her hair, breathing her in as well, and her arms snaked around his much trimmer waist. Her sandals slipped from her fingers, and her eyes squeezed shut with emotion.

"Teresa," he said in wonder. "You're here."

"Yes," she replied, and she pulled him closer still. They swayed imperceptibly from side to side for a several long moments, the breeze blowing around them, ruffling their hair, the sea a dull roar in the background as their minds tried to absorb that this was actually happening.

Finally, he pulled back to look at her, his smile nearly as bright as the morning sun, and she basked in it joyfully. Reverently, he smoothed her hair away from her eyes before framing her face with his hands. The air seized in her lungs when he lowered his beach blonde head and found her trembling lips with his own.

She had the vague thought that he tasted of tea, just as she'd always imagined he would, and then she didn't think at all. His mouth on hers was filled with longing and welcome, and a heady passion that had her clinging to him, returning his kisses with equal fervor. Her hands moved up his back to delve into his hair, curlier and wilder than she remembered. She opened her lips to let in his seeking tongue, and she gasped into his mouth, then whimpered softly as the kiss went on and on.

When at last they parted, breathless and shaking, he hugged her to him again.

"I guess this means you missed me," said Lisbon, finding her voice.

Jane laughed as freely and happily as she'd ever heard him, and she joined in, her face buried in the soft cotton of his tailored shirt.

He pulled away from her and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and smiling into her eyes.

"You look great," he said. "You've let your hair grow longer."

"You too," she said with an answering smile. And then she reached up with her free hand to touch his tan face. "And I like the beard." Her fingers lingered there, enjoying the softness of his golden beard, caressing it because he was letting her. He kissed her palm and grinned.

"But I'm not feeling the sarong," she said with a frown.

He laughed. "Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it. You wouldn't believe how comfortable it is."

She gave him a skeptical glance, then picked up her discarded shoes. They began walking back toward where he'd dropped his, but he couldn't stop looking sidelong at her, couldn't believe she was here, couldn't believe he'd finally gotten the courage to kiss her, as he'd always wanted to do.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here? How did you find me?"

He'd never told her his exact location in his letters, so she could have some amount of deniability.

Her smile dimmed, and subsequently, so did his.

"The FBI found me, eh?" he deduced. "I guess it was only a matter of time. So they sent you to arrest me?"

"No. Not exactly. They've sent me to entice you."

Her lips quirked a little at the irony, considering what they'd just been doing.

"I admit it; I'm enticed. What do they want?"

"A deal. They want you to come back and work for the FBI."

"And they'll drop all the charges, right?"

"That's what Abbot said."

"Aw, Abbot. Mr. Stick Up His Ass. You can tell him I wouldn't work for him even if _he_ kissed me."

She blushed. "Jane, it's a good deal. You could come back to the States. You wouldn't have to live your life looking over your shoulder all the time."

"I don't do that now," he said. He gestured around him with his hand full of shoes. "Look around you, Lisbon. This is paradise, not a prison. No extradition treaty with the US, so the government here wouldn't let the FBI take me back by force." He shook his head in realization. "But that's why _you're_ here—an offer I can't refuse."

"Yes."

"Do you want me to take the deal?"

She hesitated, thinking of the letters Abbot had confiscated, how he'd use them to ruin her newfound career if she didn't get Jane to come home. But she looked at him now, living as he pleased, as if they weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He was a new man, and she was beginning to like him this way.

"No," she said honestly. "I don't think you should take it. You seem happy here. At peace."

He nodded. "So I am. But there are certain things I do miss," he told her meaningfully. "And I admit that this place, while relaxing, is lacking a bit in mental stimulation."

"Then maybe you should think about it a bit more first. See the offer on paper. Abbot has it at the hotel."

"He's here?"

"Yes."

"So he sent you out here like a lamb to the slaughter."

"I prefer a Christian to the lion."

He grinned. He'd really missed _this_—this bantering they had always done. It pleased him that they could fall back into it so easily.

"So why are you here, Lisbon, if you aren't that gung ho about my coming back?"

"It's not that I don't _want _you to come back. I—I miss you too," she admitted, blushing. "And your letters—they've meant the world to me. I've only gotten through our separation this time because you've kept in touch…"

"You're not answering my question," he prompted gently.

She sighed. "Abbot's blackmailing me. I've been in communication with a fugitive from the FBI and didn't notify them, either as a citizen or as an officer of the law—that's a pretty big no-no. And then…well, they confiscated your letters as evidence."

Jane squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Lisbon. My actions have caused you problems yet again. I'd hoped that by keeping my distance, you would have had a chance to be free of all that."

She snorted a little. "Even half a world away and you're still a pain in my ass."

"Sorry," he said again sheepishly, and for the first time since she'd known him, she actually believed his apology was sincere.

"The letters were worth it, though" she told him. "And for the record, I'm glad you are okay, that you like your life now. There's something so…different about you."

"It's the sarong," he said with a laugh.

"Yes, there's that." She glanced surreptitiously at his legs, beautifully tan and muscular as revealed by the knee length garment.

"But I think you know what I mean. As much as I wish you were back in the States, I value your happiness more, Jane. You deserve it, after all those years of pain…"

He stopped and turned to face her. "Pain is relative, Teresa. The idea of not seeing you again, so soon after that wonderful welcome you just gave me, seems pretty painful to contemplate."

He bent with the intention of kissing her again, his lips a barely a whisper from hers.

"Wait," she said, her hands going to his chest. "I won't be the reason you take this deal. You need to do this only if it's what you really want. Read the contract; make an informed decision."

"Weren't you supposed to be enticing me?"

He smiled seductively at her, and she felt her legs go weak.

Seeing this sensual side of Jane was new too, and a bit overwhelming, especially up close like this, their kisses still hanging in the air between them. She laughed nervously and stepped out of his personal space.

"Let's go meet with Abbot."

He sighed dramatically, but took her hand again as they walked up the beach toward the village.

"Okay, I'll meet with the bastard. But afterwards, regardless of my decision, let me show you around my island."

"_Your_ island," she mused.

"Yes. Two years here, and they're already thinking of renaming it after me."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she said dryly. "But isn't there already a Jane's Island somewhere?"

"Yes, In Maryland, I believe. Actually, they were thinking they'd call it, _Isla de Huevos Grandes"_

Lisbon burst out laughing. "You just said_ Island of Big Eggs_. But I suppose, given your ego, that's probably a good name for your island."

"I actually meant _Good Eggs_, because Alfredo cooks the best ones, thanks to me."

"Then you probably should have said _Buenos Huevos_. Two years here, and your Spanish is still atrocious."

He grinned affectionately. "Aw, Lisbon, how have I made it this long without you?"

_How indeed_, she thought, loving him beyond reason.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Five years?" said Jane to Abbot in disbelief. "No way in hell." He slid the contract back across the table.

The three of them were sitting in the hotel's al fresco restaurant, an amazing view of the Caribbean over Abbot's left shoulder.

"That's really not much of a commitment to working for us, given you could be facing life in a Federal prison. You shot and strangled a law enforcement officer, Jane, serial killer or not."

"I'm not facing _anything_ if I stay right here," Jane countered. His hand snuck beneath the table to find Lisbon's, who was looking upon the negotiations with conflicting emotions. Her small hand was cold in his.

"Well, that's the truth," replied Abbot with irony. "But, now that we know where you are, the minute you step out of this country, you'll be arrested and expedited to the US for trial. So, in a way you're in prison here—a beautiful prison, but a prison just the same."

"Better a prison of my own choosing," Jane said, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his tea.

Abbot looked narrowly at Jane, gauging his sincerity, looking for a chink in his sarong-clad armor. He noticed the man's brief glance of reassurance at Lisbon, and realized he'd found Jane's weakness easily enough. He smiled.

"Well, our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow night, so I'm going to play a round of golf this afternoon and give you a chance to think a bit more about it. Maybe I'll do some sightseeing tomorrow. Lisbon, you game?"

"No thanks," she said. "I'd like to visit some more with Jane if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Just be ready to leave at five tomorrow evening. Oh, and you might want to start making some arrangements for your replacement back in Washington. You may have to take off a few months—or up to a year, depending on the way things go. Have a good day, you two."

Abbot tossed his napkin onto the table, having finished his late breakfast. The big man rose and left them to ponder his words. Lisbon squeezed Jane's hand, and looked hopelessly out to sea.

"That manipulative son-of-a-bitch," he bit out under his breath. "He seems to forget I've killed four men."

"Stop," she said. "He's obviously bluffing."

Jane shook his head. "I don't think so. He has no qualms about putting innocent people through hell if he gets what he wants."

Lisbon raised an amused eyebrow. "Pot, meet Kettle."

"That _used_ to be me," Jane admitted. "No more. I can't abide bullies, Lisbon."

She turned to look deeply into his eyes. "This is the right decision for you-don't worry about me-I know lots of good lawyers. We have a day and a half together, Jane. This time is a gift that I never thought I'd have; let's not waste it on regrets or anger." She gave him a mischievous smirk. "Show me your _Huevos Grandes_."

Despite Jane's anger and the sharp pain in his heart, he smiled at her attempt at humor. "My pleasure, Senorita."

He took her on a tour of his favorite places, showing her off to the kind people he'd grown to love. Everyone looked surprised and pleased to see him with a lovely woman, his smile even wider than usual as he proudly introduced her.

Alfredo seemed especially happy for him. "At last we meet the beautiful Teresa," he said in stilted English (though it was still better than Jane's Spanish). "Senor Jane has spoken of you often. You should be ashamed, Senor. She is much more beautiful than you said."

Lisbon smiled. "Gracias, Alfredo." It was exciting for her to finally meet the people Jane had so lovingly described in his letters. She felt like she already knew them, his descriptions had been so accurate.

They took a longer walk on the beach, Lisbon catching Jane up on the fates of their former CBI team. Since she hadn't been able to write back to him, she had a lot to tell.

"Another baby," said Jane of Rigsby and Grace. "Good for them."

"They're visiting me in Washington in a few days. This will be my first chance to see little Maddie."

"Well, give her a kiss for me," he said, and his voice was filled with longing. Lisbon had forgotten how much Jane adored children.

"And Cho figured if he couldn't beat them, he'd join them," Lisbon said, after giving Jane the news that her former second in command had become an FBI agent.

"Traitor," said Jane in amusement, but there was more than a hint of pride there. "Good for Cho," he said truthfully. "And I'm glad you were all cleared of any conspiracy with The Blake Association."

"We were, but I faced a lot of suspicion when I tried to find another job in California. It was big news for months as the FBI cleaned house. But Cannon River is home now. It's beautiful there, and I have finally started to feel a part of the community."

Jane smiled. "I bet you were quite the curiosity, a lady police chief."

She grinned in remembrance. "You can't even imagine. Oh, the stories I could tell…"

"Please do," he said. "I'd love to hear them. Besides, you don't know how wonderful it is to be speaking in English."

"With your Spanish, I don't doubt it."

He laughed, and she found she was loving the unfamiliar sound more and more; Jane's laughter had been such a rarity _before_.

They spent the rest of the day talking, buying their lunch from street vendors and eating it while they walked. She bought souvenirs and presents for home, carrying them in a woven basket she'd procured first thing. His hand rarely left hers, or at times she'd feel its warmth on her lower back or shoulder, guiding her. He hadn't kissed her again, but she found she wanted him to, more than anything.

He saved showing his second-floor apartment for last, and she couldn't help her brief frown before she quickly masked it with a bright smile. It was a dump, and he knew it, but that's all he allowed himself in order to conserve his money.

"It's very…functional," she said diplomatically.

Jane chuckled. "It's awful; you can say it."

She walked around the two-room place, touching the shells he'd collected, sniffing the herb plants he was keeping to make the place a bit homier. He had a small stove with a teakettle, a bed and nightstand, and a small desk lined with books, most of them in Spanish. She would be sure to get his mailing address now so she could send him some books in English. Her throat tightened as she thought of the endless years before her without him.

"It's not awful," she replied, taking a seat on his lumpy bed. "It's exactly as you described."

"I admit I probably made it sound a bit more romantic than it really is."

She smiled. "You did. But I can see the attraction." She looked toward the open window, where the colorful village stretched out before them, rolling down to the edge of the clear blue sea. It was nearing sunset, and the sky was starting to change from blue to varying shades of pink and orange. "The view is spectacular."

He was leaning against his desk chair, watching her closely, memorizing what it was like to have her here for the long days ahead, when he would have nothing but his memories to sustain him. The ache in his heart returned with such violence that he actually put a hand to his chest.

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly, trying to forget the pain.

She smiled. "Sure."

"I know a place that has the best seafood on the island."

She stood. "Okay. But I'd like to run back to my hotel to change, if you don't mind. I feel like I'm carrying half the beach in my dress."

His eyes roamed up and down her colorful sundress, noting how she was a bit pink on her bare shoulders and nose from her afternoon in the sun, her hair full and wavy from the wind.

"You look lovely to me, but I'll take you back if you like."

"No, I remember the way."

"But—"

She held up a hand. "I'm a cop, Jane. I'll be fine."

Now this Lisbon he remembered quite well. "Okay, Chief, I'll meet you at that open-air café I showed you near the fountain, say, in about an hour?"

She moved toward the door, pausing to look at him one last time, her green eyes filled with unspoken promises that had his pulse racing. "I'll be there."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, and Jane was sitting at a little wooden table amidst strings of colored lights, nervous as he'd been in years. He'd ordered them two cervezas, and he took a fortifying pull from his bottle, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited for Lisbon. He could still feel the phantom weight of his wedding ring, though he knew he'd left it on the table by his bed. If this was to be his only night with Lisbon, he wanted nothing of his tragic past between them.

He'd known the moment she'd left him an hour before that he wanted her in his bed, and that look she'd given him on her way out of his apartment told him it was what she wanted too. So, he'd showered in his tiny bathroom with the extremely low water pressure, thought about shaving but hadn't, since she'd genuinely seemed to like his beard. He wore slacks again for the first time in nearly a year along with his newest patterned shirt from his favorite local tailor, Victor. He wished he'd had some aftershave, but he didn't even own any anymore, so he hoped she liked the scent of coconut soap and deodorant.

_Quit overthinking this, Jane_, he told himself.

On his way to the café, he'd stopped at the small tienda for condoms (avoiding the knowing eyes of Ricardo, the proprietor) and the three he'd brought with him seemed to burn a hole in his wallet. He ran a shaking hand through his still damp hair, his eyes on the door. And then, as if summoned from his dreams, she appeared. He rose to greet her.

He recognized the dress as one she'd bought in the market earlier, a turquoise blue with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. Silver strappy sandals revealed bright pink toenails, and her familiar gold cross rested above an enticing hint of freckled cleavage. She'd pulled up one side of her hair with a shell bedecked comb, and when she leaned in for his kiss on her soft cheek, she smelled of jasmine and roses. Had Jane believed in Heaven, he would have thought he'd awakened that morning, suddenly transported there by her very presence.

"Muy bonita," he exclaimed appreciatively.

She smiled, shamelessly admiring him as well. "Back at you."

They sat, the first time the silence seemed awkward between them.

"The paella here is really delicious," he offered.

She nodded, just at their waitress arrived. "Sounds good."

He ordered for them in Spanish, and she took a grateful sip of her beer.

"I missed you," he blurted out, once the waitress had gone. She didn't point out that it had only been an hour.

"Me too," she said. "Every day."

"I wish—" he began.

"No. Let's not do that. Let's enjoy our evening, okay? Live in the moment."

He brought his bottle up. "I'll drink to that."

She clinked her beer against his, sealing this deal, at least. From then on, the conversation flowed as easily as it always had between them.

The food was as wonderful as he'd promised, and as they enjoyed another drink—this time margaritas-Jane took her hand across the table, his thumb massaging her delicate knuckles. An inspired thought occurred to him.

"You wanna go dancing?"

Her smile lit up her face, that kind of smile he loved the most. "Sure."

He swung her around to the lively rhythm of the street band, both of them dancing with abandon and much laughter, Jane feeling intoxicated by her nearness as much as with the alcohol. When the music finally slowed, he pulled her close to the cadence of a mellow guitar, her body warm against his, her perfumed hair tickling his nose as they moved.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, and he felt her tremble a little at his words.

"Yes," she said on a sigh, and before the song had even ended, he took her hand and led her down the darkened streets toward his apartment.

**A/N: Yes, I started this with a kiss, because that's what we all wanted them to do, right? Please forgive any mistakes in my Spanish. Believe me, I speak it much worse than Jane. More to come very soon, I imagine. I find I'm enjoying writing this very much. **


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm blown away by your wonderful response to this fic! Thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews. You are all too kind, and so incredible in your praise! I hope I continue to entertain you. This chapter is rated M, though any readers new to my writing should know I try very hard to be tasteful. But, if you're not into that, skip to the last part of the chapter.

**Chapter 3**

Jane let loose of her hand only long enough to unlock the door to his apartment at the top of the stairs. He reached in first to flip the light switch that turned on the lamps by his bed. The place looked even more pathetic in the dimness, and he regretted briefly that he hadn't suggested they go to her more posh hotel room. But he knew the real reason—he wanted the memory of their first (and perhaps only) time together to be here in this room, where he could better relive it after she'd gone. But he pushed those dismal thoughts from his mind in the spirit of their agreement to live in the present.

He shut and locked the door behind them, then he turned to Lisbon, who was standing where he'd left her, looking as anxious as he felt. He grinned, took her small shoulder bag and hung it on a chair, then wrapped his slightly damp palms around her upper arms.

"I'm a little drunk, just so you know."

"Me too," she said, looking up into his dear face. "So in the morning we can blame any awkward moments on the margaritas."

"Good idea," he murmured, before he closed his eyes and kissed her.

But it wasn't awkward at all. It was as natural as breathing, as familiar as if they'd done this a million times before. Their initial kiss was slow and deep, a mating of lips and tongues infused with the tang of tequila and lime. Her arms draped over his shoulders, his went round her waist, and they danced slowly toward his small bed in the corner.

Their excitement mounted, especially when he lowered her gently to the bed before kneeling before her, but then a glint of gold on the nightstand caught her eye, and she focused on Jane's wedding band. Her gaze flew back to his. She swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"Did you forget something?" she asked, her tone filled with dread.

"No," he said solemnly, his eyes steady on hers. "I find I don't need it anymore."

Her eyes widened with comprehension, and she leaned forward and kissed him; the ring and its tragic symbolism no longer had power over either of them.

Jane removed her sandals, then his hands slid up her legs beneath her dress, his full lips never leaving hers as he caressed her, his palms settling on her silken inner thighs. She gasped against his mouth while her trembling fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and she impatiently extricated each one, anxious to feel the heated flesh beneath her palms.

He'd lifted up her skirt by then, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of her black panties, and he wanted to weep with joy when he found her already slick and ready for him. Her lips moved from his face to his neck, kissing her way down to his bared chest, her tongue finding his flat nipples while he shuddered and groaned at the heady sensation. He increased the motion of his fingers, circling the swollen pearl with his thumb before inserting one finger inside of her. She paused in her own sensual torture of his body to allow herself a moment simply to feel what he was doing to her, and he watched her face as it contorted with pleasure.

"Slow down…please," she begged, wanting the build up to last a little longer before she imploded beneath his hand.

He met her dazed eyes and shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "But I promise this is only the beginning, sweetheart."

With his other hand he pulled down the top of her dress until the front closure of bra was exposed, then he pushed her back onto the bed, freeing her breasts with his teeth, while his fingers continued to work within her. He found one rosy tip and flicked it with his tongue before suckling it hard into his mouth. Her back arched off the bed, and then her hands came up to hold his curly head to her breasts. His beard felt amazingly soft against her sensitive skin, and she was nearly faint with need.

Her sudden cries rent the air and he silenced her with his mouth, releasing her in a moment to let them both catch their breaths. He stood, a little off balance, watching her residual shivers as he removed his shirt completely, his hands going next to the waistband of his trousers.

He was harder than he could ever remember being, especially when she sat up on her elbows to watch the show, her bare breasts still heaving, her eyelids heavy with renewed desire. He found himself unusually self-conscious, and he fumbled with his belt a moment before she smiled and sat up to help him. He dropped his useless hands and let her, sucking in his breath when she finally cupped him through his boxers.

"Lisbon," he said, wanting to tell her about the condoms, because twelve years mostly celibate was going to mean this would likely be over fairly quickly. But he suddenly couldn't find the words. Now, after having released some of her own tension, Lisbon's hands were a bit steadier than his, and she took control of things, for which he was undeniably grateful. His pants hit the floor around his feet and he stepped out of them on shaky legs, then toed off his shoes. Her face was on level with his bulging crotch, and she smiled mischievously before pulling his boxers down over his erection. His hands went to her shoulders for balance, and when her hair brushed his thighs, he thought he would come right then.

When her hot mouth and hands encircled them, he hissed in shock, his body jerking toward her. He felt the hum of her laughter vibrate through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to find some control.

"Lisbon, I don't think this—ah- is a very good… ah…"

"Hmm?" she queried innocently.

He risked looking down at her, the sensual image about doing him in. Her bodice was still bunched about her waist, exposing the faintly freckled skin of her torso, lightly pink about the shoulders. She met his eyes again, and he lost it. Next thing Lisbon knew, she was on her back on the bed, her skirt pulled up to her chin, a kneeling Patrick Jane sliding into her body with a feral growl. She would have laughed again were the sensation not so wonderfully erotic. She bent her knees, allowing him to go even deeper. They both moaned in appreciation.

She watched Jane's face, damp now with sweat, his jaw clenched with the strain. She felt him harden even more within her, then he was leaning forward, his hips dipping and hitting a spot that made her cry out with each thrust. A moment later, he too found his release.

"Teresa," he said into her neck, his body still joined with hers. She embraced him while their bodies cooled, marveling at how good they were together, how she'd waited twelve years to be here with him like this.

"It was worth the wait," she said aloud, and she felt him shake a little with his own gleeful laughter.

"You have a wonderful gift for understatement…among other things."

He moved off of her and pulled her to his side, encountering her hopelessly wrinkled dress. He lifted the gauzy material and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry. I was so overcome by your…charms that I was a little impatient." He reached out to caress her breast and kissed her flushed cheek. Then he remembered something else he'd overlooked, and she felt his body tense with worry.

"Lisbon, about the condoms in my wallet…"

She willed herself not to panic, for she'd also forgotten the handful she'd stuffed into her small purse.

"I brought some too," she said helplessly.

This was totally unlike either one of them, to throw themselves so completely into a situation without thinking first. Silently, they both blamed the tequila, but it was more likely their brain fogged passion that had made them so reckless.

She turned in his arms to look at him, kissing his lips reassuringly. What was done was done—and done well, she added to herself.

"Next time," she promised.

There were two more next times in the night. The second time, condom dutifully in place, they faced each other in the darkness, one of her legs thrown over his thigh as he moved slowly in and out of her body, so slowly it was maddening at times. But when she would have sped things up, he grasped her hips, holding her to the rhythm he had set until she whimpered and fell apart in his arms. He finished by rolling her to her back, his hands laced with hers above her head, continuing his steady pace for as long as he could. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels pushing him more deeply inside until he finally lost control, his body convulsing, his fingers gripping hers almost painfully. 

"Jesus," he said when he could speak, and she'd never in her life heard him utter anything remotely deifying. She smiled and kissed his shoulder. Apparently, it had been just as spiritual an experience with him as it had been with her.

Exquisitely sated (for the moment), they fell asleep in the narrow bed. Jane awoke just before morning and lay still, remembering he was not alone. He could barely see her in the pale light from the open windows, but she lay on her stomach beside him, her hair half-covering her face and streaming down her shoulders. It was cooler in the room now, with the morning breeze blowing through, the distant sound of the surf normally stirring him to a gentle wakefulness. But today-Lisbon's last day here-a desperation built inside of him and he suddenly had no qualms in waking her.

He drew her dark hair aside, kissing the back of her neck before following her spine to her dimpled bottom. She stirred, and stretched a little, luxuriating in his kisses before fully realizing his intentions.

She was about to complain that she needed coffee before embarking on such an adventure this early in the morning, but by then he had moved to lift her hips, and she felt his hot, wet tongue laving her core from behind. She couldn't possibly come again, she thought, not after their multiple exertions the night before. But as he had often done over the years, Jane proved her wrong, and she climaxed against his mouth within seconds.

There was a brief pause, while she panted into the pillow. Then she heard the telltale sound of a condom wrapper, before he grasped her hips and took her from behind in a passionate frenzy that had her feeling limp as a rag doll. But she sensed his desperation, heard it in the guttural sounds wrung from deep in his chest. She let him have this, let him have her as he wanted, but by the end, when he'd collapsed upon her naked back, she realized the pillow was now wet with her tears.

"Stay with me, Teresa," he pleaded in a harsh whisper against her neck. She struggled to turn under the weight of his body, but he held her there, pinned to the bed like a captured butterfly, his bearded cheek pressed between her shoulder blades.

Finally, exhaustion taking him, he slept.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sun was already filling Jane's small apartment by the time Lisbon was able to extricate herself from beneath him. She tiptoed to his bathroom and used facilities, then the shower, securing her hair up with her discarded comb since there wasn't enough water pressure to wash it thoroughly. The soap smelled like him, and she knew she would never be able to smell coconut again without thinking about their night together.

She was going home today, without Jane, despite his plea for her to stay. In some ways, it would be so easy to give up everything and live with him here in this pretty little village by the sea. But while Jane seemed to belong here, even seemed to be thriving in this paradise, she knew that she would not survive it long. She had no doubt Abbot would pursue those charges against her, so she would be trapped here just as Jane was, and she didn't think she'd be offered the same sweet deal as case-closing extraordinaire, Patrick Jane.

As an American, she would always be an outsider here, and she didn't think she'd be invited, a fugitive herself, to work for local law enforcement. She would go slowly and surely insane from boredom. She wished with all her heart that Jane could be enough for her, but Lisbon knew herself well, and she didn't want to come to resent him for taking her away from her second love—being a cop. It was selfish of her, but if the last two years without Jane had taught her anything, it was that sometimes she had to put herself first.

She dried off and went back into the other room, picking up her discarded dress and pulling it over her head. She'd had the foresight to slip a clean pair of panties into her purse as well. She knew Jane wouldn't have coffee, so she brewed the tea as strongly as she could, liberally lacing it with milk and sugar. Blowing on her mug, she went to the window and stared out at the sea.

She heard him awaken, get out of bed, then pad naked to embrace her, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms hugging her back to his chest.

He didn't say anything at first, and she had the feeling he was memorizing this moment, just as she was, saving it for the many rainy days to come.

"You smell like me," he said with tender amusement. "That'll wreak havoc on my memory palace for awhile."

She smiled, sipping her tea. "Still building that thing?"

"It's constantly under construction. Sort of like that mystery house in San Jose."

"With lots of dead ends, unexplained corridors, sealed up rooms, pointless redecoration…"

She felt his grin against her neck. "I wouldn't say _pointless_…"

"Peopled with spirits?" she suggested softly.

He stiffened minutely, then relaxed again. "Not so much anymore. Only one, but she is a friendly little ghost." He kissed the side of her neck and stood up straight, taking the tea from her hands. He sipped it and made a face.

"That's awful." He returned it to her in disgust.

Still naked, he went to his stove to put the kettle back on and she grinned to watch him, so comfortable in his element. He certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. He was tan from head to toe, and she wondered at the lack of tan lines. He was in the fittest shape she had ever seen him, and while there were additional lines about his eyes from both smiling and squinting into the sun, he was even more handsome now, and she'd never dreamed that would be possible.

He felt her amused gaze and turned to watch her too. Her eyes alighted on the thatch of dark blond hair at his groin, and he actually blushed a bit, then moved to find his boxers. She laughed.

"Can't the cat look at the canary?"

"Not like that," he said wryly, pulling up his underwear, "not when she looks like she'd like to eat him up."

She set down her tea and walked over to him, petting his furry cheeks before kissing him deeply.

"Good morning, Mr. Canary," she said against his full lips, sensually bee-stung from their recent workout.

"Good morning, Pussycat," he replied, embracing her again.

"So, what will you show me today?" she asked, in a valiant effort to be cheerful.

"We could just stay here," he said suggestively.

"Not if I ever plan to walk again."

He chuckled. "Sorry," he said, clearly not.

The kettle whistled, and he moved to make his tea to his taste.

"There's a beautiful Catholic church overlooking the sea," he said, answering her question.

She smiled, remembering one of his letters. "Santa Teresa's," she said.

She was amazed they could sound so normal, after all that had transpired between them, like two friends planning their holiday. He didn't mention his words after his desperate lovemaking that morning, and neither did she. She supposed he had just been living in the moment, just as she'd asked him to, but had regretted it the moment he'd spoken. Sort of like when he'd impulsively confessed he'd loved her, once upon a time. Still, it was all she could do not to be sad that he hadn't asked her again, even if her answer would be no.

They had this day, and she didn't want to ruin it with tears.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Santa Teresa's sat atop a high bluff overlooking the sparkling Caribbean on one side, the village on the other. It was quite a little trek up the winding road, but the view was worth it. From there they could see most all of the island, three other small villages dotting the rain forest along the distant shoreline.

"I come up here often," he told her. "It's very peaceful."

"Churches are supposed to be like that," she teased, "Although you haven't had much peace in them in the past."

"True. But this place is different."

He led her by the hand inside the beautiful structure, with its bell tower, stained glass, mahogany, and Spanish influence. It reminded her of missions back in California, and Lisbon dutifully went to the font, dipping in her fingers before crossing herself and touching the crucifix at her neck.

They found a pew toward the front, and Lisbon looked at the pulpit and the statues of Mary, Jesus, and Saint Teresa herself.

"It's lovely," she whispered. A few others, some obviously tourists, were lighting candles and kneeling to pray. She nodded toward the confessional.

"No," said Jane, stifling a laugh. "Don't get your hopes up."

She shrugged. "It might do you good."

"The priest wouldn't have enough time in the day," he quipped.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Lisbon closing her eyes and praying for guidance for herself and for Jane, as well as for the strength to live her life again without him. She blinked back the tears that threatened, and rose to leave.

Outside again, the wind whipping harder here at the top of the hill, they enjoyed the cooling breeze as they walked around the palm tree lined walkway to view the sea. They stood at the railing, looking far out at the distant ships, both of them a bit melancholy since the quiet of the church. Jane stood beside her, his arm about her waist, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. It reminded Lisbon a bit of that day at sunset two years before, on a different bluff, when Jane in effect had said goodbye. It was equally one of her most treasured and painful memories.

"Teresa," he began.

"Hmm?"

"There's something I want to say to you before you leave. I should have told you this a long time ago—well, if you were to get technical-"

Lisbon stepped away from his arm to face him, her fingers going to his lips.

"Wait," she said. "Don't you dare say anything to me now unless you really mean it, unless you don't intend to take it back or pretend to forget or-God forbid-leave me up here in some misguided attempt to protect me. I don't think I could survive it."

He had the decency to look abashed as his previous missteps were thrown back in his face. He kissed her fingers, then pulled her hand away, wrapping it safely in his own.

"I guess I deserved that."

"And more," she added, a bit spitefully, in Jane's opinion.

"And more," he repeated with an apologetic grin. "You want to punch me first, or can I go on now?"

"I'll reserve that right for later."

His smile widened at her sarcasm, but then he grew serious, and he held both of her hands, squeezing them as if for courage (or maybe for self-protection).

"What I should have told you, all those times, was that I love you, Teresa. And I don't mean just as friends or former colleagues, or because I'm hyped up or wanting to distract you. I'm _in love_ with you, Lisbon-ardently, hopelessly, and perhaps even selfishly. And I didn't want you to leave without hearing me say it in person, instead of the more cowardly route of writing it in a letter later. I thought you should know, so you don't go home thinking last night was just a heat of the moment thing, that it was just a farewell fu—uh, that it was just sex. It was making love, in every sense of the words."

He took a breath to gauge her reaction, which he rightly supposed was a mixture of shock, joy, sadness, and love. A single tear slipped down her wind-chafed cheek, and before he could say anymore, she'd thrown herself into his arms, hugging him tightly enough to hurt.

"Okay," she said, her ear pressed to his violently pounding heart.

"_Okay?_" he echoed, not fully comprehending this response. He'd just poured his heart out to the woman, and all he was getting was _okay? _ He tried for clarification.

"Okay, you agree? Okay, you give your permission for my expression of these feelings? Okay-what?"

"Okay, I believe you."

"Well…good. Because I am being honest here, Lisbon."

She nodded against his chest. "Yes, I know. Thank you."

"You're thanking me."

"Yes."

Jane was at a loss. He'd seen the emotions written on her face. He knew this had to be good news to her, given his reticence and his sometime emotional as well as physical distance. So, why-? Then, it dawned.

"This is your idea of revenge, isn't it?" He said, his grin returning. "Leaving me in suspense, making me second-guess myself. Very clever, Lisbon."

"How does it feel?" she whispered.

His smile dimmed. "Like Hell."

She pulled away from his chest to look up at him. "Now, we're even."

But he knew better than his forgiving Saint Teresa that they were nowhere close to being even, but he decided he would allow her gift of absolution, so he could also forgive himself.

"I love you, Teresa," he tried again.

She smiled, dimples appearing full force, green eyes filled with joy once more.

"I love you too."

He kissed her smiling mouth, a lightness, a bubbling elation suffusing them both.

After a few moments, they faced the vast sea again, his arm draped round her shoulders. But the happiness of the moment soon diminished as the reality of their situation hit them, like the unexpected splash of a rogue wave.

"Now what?" she asked hopelessly.

Damned if Jane knew.

**A/N: One more chapter remaining of this little fic. Thanks for reading, and for the blessing of any of your reviews. If you don't already, please follow me on Twitter. My account is Donnamour1969 there too.**

**Happy New Year!**


	4. Conclusion

A/N: I warned you this fic would be short, but hey, it's a chapter longer than I promised! Thanks again for all your glorious reviews.

**Chapter 4: Conclusion**

It was four-o'clock, and Lisbon and Jane sat on the beach on towels, watching the fishermen hauling in their catch not far from shore. Jane would often show up there that time of day to buy fresh seafood for his dinner, but this afternoon, food was the last thing on his mind.

They held hands and she cuddled against him, and he knew she was trying hard not to cry. So was he, for that matter. Only two days before, this island had seemed fulfilling and beautiful, with only one small piece missing—Lisbon's friendship. Now, he had Lisbon's love, had tasted her, joined with her, and even paradise seemed dull by comparison.

They'd made love again in the heat of the early afternoon, the desperation he had shown her that morning apparently contagious, for she had held him down and straddled him, taking him inside of her body as she undulated with mindless abandon. Her motives were easy enough to read: she had no control over his choice to leave, but she'd be damned if she wouldn't exert some control in his bed. Afterwards, breathless and perspiring, they'd run down to the sea and swam, Jane in his swimming trunks, Lisbon in one of his t-shirts over her bra and panties.

Now, they sat in the sand, her hair nearly dried into deep natural waves, the minutes ticking by too quickly.

"I have to go," she said, her voice hitching a bit. "I need time to bathe and change. I don't want to be late and piss Abbot off."

"Fuck Abbot." He threw a stone angrily into the sea for emphasis.

"I would, if that would do any good," she said, in a lame attempt at humor.

He pulled her roughly to him, kissing her with a passionate despair that finally drew tears from each of them.

"I wish I hadn't come here," she said, breaking his heart a little more. "I was doing all right before. I missed you, but your letters got me through. How the hell am I going to survive now on…on just letters?"

"I could get a phone—"

"It won't be enough. Not now."

He'd told himself he wasn't going to say it again. It had been a mistake earlier, a selfish mistake in a long line of his selfish mistakes. But seeing her cry, he could only think of one way to get her to stop.

"Don't go," he said.

"Jane."

"No, I'm serious. You could stay here, with me."

"I would kill you—or myself—within a week. No."

"We wouldn't have to live here, if you don't like this village. We could find another place, a bigger house—"

"It's not the village. I have to work, Jane. I have to be a cop—it's who I am. What would I do here on an island? Work security at a hotel? Investigate petty thefts and pick up drunks off the beach? That would be _my _personal prison. I couldn't do that anymore than you could sell your soul to the FBI."

"You're right. I'm sorry. Forget I suggested it."

He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation, and then he slipped one hand behind her neck and pulled her lips to his. She succumbed for a moment, savoring his taste—peppermint tea and tears.

"I have to go," she repeated tremulously against his mouth. She caressed his beard, then pressed her lips where her fingers had touched.

"I'll walk you to the hotel," he offered, his eyes bleak.

"No. I won't be able to say good-bye if you do. All it'll take is that smile of yours, and I won't be able to get on the plane."

She stood, while he remained seated in the sand, paralyzed already by her loss. He grasped her hand and looked up at her, giving her a weak semblance of the smile she mentioned. But she was still going.

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you too."

And then he let her go.

He couldn't bear watching her leave, but he made himself do it anyway. She walked as quickly as her small legs could carry her through the sand and up to Alfredo's, waving good-bye to the barkeep and no doubt gifting him with her dimples. Then she disappeared from view.

She would have to stop at his place to get her things, put on her turquoise dress. Then she would walk through the square, past the fountain, and up to the swanky hotel. He imagined her in the shower, allowing herself a few last moments to cry as she leaned naked against the tile. But then she would wipe off her face, pull her wet hair into a neat ponytail, and stoically do what needed to be done.

Abbot would drop the whole letter thing when they got back to the States, Jane had little doubt. If he'd thought otherwise, he'd have gone with her in a minute. Abbot was a stickler for the law, but he really wasn't a cruel man. He'd had a job to do—get Jane to work for the FBI—using the most logical and expedient means necessary. But he wouldn't waste the taxpayers' money putting a good cop in jail because his plan had failed. There would be no point in that, really, and despite his outward arrogance, Jane didn't really overestimate his own importance. Lisbon would be allowed to go back to being Chief of Police in her own little village, get back to the new life she'd started…without him.

And he—_he_ would still be here, sitting on his ass in the sand.

"Shit," he muttered, wiping angrily at his eyes.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

At five minutes until five, Lisbon stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for Abbot. She had sadly packed away her island clothes in exchange for jeans, a black t-shirt, and sensible flats. Her hair hung in a damp ponytail. She kept picturing Jane as she had left him, shirtless and beautiful on the beach. This was the memory she would take with her. And the four times they'd made love.

The airport shuttle pulled up outside the hotel, but still no Abbot. Then a young man-Franklin, according to his hotel nametag-approached her.

"Senorita Lisbon?"

"Yes."

"A Senor Abbot asked me to give you a message. He said he is delayed, but to take the five o'clock shuttle to the airport and he will meet you there."

"Gracias," she said kindly, but inside, Lisbon was fuming. She could have had more time with Jane, rather than busting her ass to make it here on time. She dragged her rolling carry-on to the shuttle bus and climbed inside, finding a front seat, and staring out the window at the beach in the distance.

She'd gotten through customs and was already on the plane, but no Abbot. She thought about calling him, but she didn't have the man's cell number. Should she leave? Was Abbot in trouble? She was taking out her smart phone to look up the hotel's number when she saw the big man appear in the doorway of the small plane. He nodded to her and sat a few aisles ahead of her. Another passenger came aboard, and then there was Jane. Happiness suffused her, and his smile was the widest she'd ever seen-he'd always taken great pleasure in shocking her.

He sat beside her in the empty aisle seat. Before she could speak, he was kissing her. He still smelled like the sea, and she saw he had quickly thrown on one of his old suits—sans vest-and his island shirt. He held a small duffle bag, which he pushed under the seat in front of him with his sockless, brown-shoed feet.

"Jane," she said in exasperation. "What the hell?"

"I couldn't let you leave without me," he said simply.

"But you won't be happy working for the FBI," she reminded him. "I don't want you resenting me for your decision—"

"Don't worry, Lisbon, I added a few of my own terms to the deal."

He brought from his suit coat pocket a gold napkin, one she recognized from Alfredo's bar, upon which he'd scrawled with marker a list of his demands. Number one was…_her_.

"Dammit, Jane. You had no right—"

"Read on," he said, nudging her with his arm. "It gets better." She skimmed through it, past the Airstream trailer, the couch, the tea, the living expenses. _Huevos grandes_ indeed. She gave him a skeptical smirk.

"And Abbot agreed to all this?"

"He signed it on the bottom, see?"

She did, but then she frowned. "You realize he probably had no authorization to promise you these things."

"He's a man of his word."

She snorted doubtfully. "Did you sign the _real _contract?"

"Not yet."

"So, the moment this plane touches down on American soil, he can arrest you for murder if he wants, and you won't have a leg to stand on."

"They want me to work for them, Lisbon, not to sit in jail. It'll all work out. Trust me."

She didn't even stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Back to your so-called terms, Jane. I don't appreciate that you didn't consult me about Item Number One."

"I didn't exactly have the time…"

"I have a life in Washington now. A house. A good, respectable job."

"That bores you to tears."

"It's a good, respectable job," she repeated.

"Well, now we both will. In Austin. What does it matter the place? We'll be together, that's the main thing."

It was difficult to argue with that, but she tried anyway. "What about selling your soul to the FBI for five years?"

He tapped the napkin in her lap. "This will make it infinitely more bearable."

"You hope," she said under her breath.

He turned in his seat to take her hands in his. "Do you love me, Lisbon?"

"You know I do."

"Then _be_ with me. This is a new beginning, Teresa, for both of us. All that beach bum stuff—I'm over it, just like I bet you're over the too-quiet charm of Pacific Northwestern living. Admit it, we both need some excitement, some adventure in our lives. But it will mean nothing if you're not there to stroke my…_ego_ on a regular basis."

This last he said with that certain smile of his, the one that could always make her do anything for him, even fly to a South American island, put her life on hold, change her address, change her job, forgive him all his multitude of sins, and make love with him until she couldn't see (or walk) straight. But she still didn't want to be perceived as a pushover. She was determined that they have an equal relationship, without him calling all the shots.

"You're assuming a lot here," she said. "Maybe I have some terms of my own."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Like what? Lay 'em on me, Lisbon. I'm in the mood to negotiate." He rubbed his hands together for emphasis.

The flight attendant interrupted them, however, making preliminary announcements and giving her in-flight safety spiel. When they had finally lifted off, Jane kissed her cheek and picked up the thread of their conversation.

"Well? What are they?" he prompted indulgently.

She shook her head at him, loving him so much that it made her heart contract almost painfully. She took a fortifying breath.

"Item Number One. You are never to lie to me, about anything."

"_Never?_ What if your jeans make you look fat, or you have horrible morning breath."

"Never," she reiterated. Then she smiled a little. "And I'll certainly return the favor."

He sighed. This would be the most difficult rule to follow, which of course was why she'd made it number one.

"Fine."

"Seriously? I already don't believe you."

"Okay, will you accept that I will try my utmost, especially on important things?"

"Things that are important to _me_, Jane. This is a deal-breaker."

He tried to look annoyed, but in his heart he was jumping for joy. "All right. But you drive a hard bargain, Lisbon."

"Good. Item Number Two. You will include me in any and all of your schemes, _before _they transpire."

"Well, that's an easy one. Done."

"It never seemed to be easy for you in the past."

"We've reached a new level of trust, Lisbon. I _want_ to share everything with you. It'll be me and you against the world, or at least the FBI. Besides, you're no longer _The Man._ The FBI is now _The Man_."

"It doesn't have to be us against them, Jane. We're supposed to be on the same side."

"Ha. You know how massive government entities are, sticking their fascist noses into everybody's business. The CBI was bad enough. We're talking despotism on a much grander scale…"

"Jane."

He grinned. "So the simple answer is yes, I'll include you in all of my schemes."

"Okay then. Item Number Three. You shall maintain an appropriate level of professionalism with me on the job at all times."

His expression turned sly. "_All_ times? No quickies on my new couch when everyone has left the office?"

She blushed, looking nervously around at the other passengers. The woman across the aisle suddenly smiled down at her Kindle, and Lisbon wanted to sink into the floor. She lowered her voice to a warning hiss.

"That's just the kind of thing I mean."

"We're not on the job right now. As a matter of fact, we could join the Mile High Club when the seatbelt light goes off and in no way would I be violating Item Number Three."

Lisbon had seen the small bathroom on this kind of plane, so she wasn't even tempted. Much.

"Absolutely not. And keep your voice down, sheesh."

"Sorry," he said, in an exaggerated whisper. He looked over at their neighbor, caught her eye, and winked.

"Anything else? How about something fun, like Starbuck's every morning or backrubs every night?"

"Are you volunteering?"

"Of course. Anything to sweeten the deal for you. I mean, I'm getting an Airstream, myself."

"Good luck with that."

"What do you religious types say, _O, ye of little faith?_"

"My faith is in God, not in Dennis Abbot," she said, shooting daggers at the bald head three aisles up. The man had blackmailed her, after all, and she hadn't appreciated the heavy handed way he'd come in and taken over at the CBI two years before.

"And I have faith in _us_, Teresa," he said, his demeanor turning serious. He brought her hand to his lips, his eyes reminding her of the Caribbean Sea, far, far beneath them now. "I've had two years to think about it, and I realized that I've come to believe a little in destiny. I was meant to meet you twelve years ago. If I hadn't, if you and Minnelli hadn't given me a chance with the CBI, well, who knows what I would have become. I'm pretty sure I'd be dead, actually. Now here you are again, giving me a second chance at life after…after Red John."

He hesitated a moment, then plunged in to say what was on his mind. "Timothy Carter told me I should get on with my life, that I should give up my obsession with Red John, find myself a woman to love. I'd told him I would, when he was dead. Well, he's dead, the _real_ Red John is dead, and it's time to get on with my life. Seriously move on, not hide from it on an island somewhere. You, Lisbon. _You_ are my life- my fate, my destiny—whatever you want to call it. Believing in you has gotten me this far. I want to see how much farther we can go together."

He kissed her tenderly, and the lady across the aisle wiped away a stray tear. After a few sweet moments, he drew away, kissed her knuckles again, then sat back against his seat, smiling contentedly.

"Okay," said Lisbon, smiling dreamily back, her dimples meant only for him. "Starbuck's and backrubs it is."

He chuckled.

"That's my girl. Go for the gusto."

Lisbon was genuinely looking forward to it.

**THE END**

A/N: Well, it's the end of my fic, but not for Jisbon, I hope. Thanks for reading. You guys are really helping me through the hiatus. Four more days, folks!

P.S.: I'll get back to work on "Private Eyes," and also, I've now posted Nerwen's epilogue to "Double Talk." Please check both stories out if you've missed them.


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